Where the sunlight splashes through
The barely moving branches of the Magnolia tree
It makes a fascinating pattern on the patio.
Amy Lowell wrote of patterns in a lovely, angry verse
When she was writing about how she hated war.

I bend to trace the patterns with my toe
And focus on the possibilities of now
With monster canons rolling down the boulevards
And goose-step imitators marching by
While in the stands a devilishly evil Buddha smiles.

A zephyr gently stirs the leaves
And all the patterns rearrange again
I look at them with half closed eyes
And I can’t find the symmetry
That I saw just an hour ago.

The Kraken still is held by chains
And though he gushes fire and venom
The patterns on the wall contain him
As he thrashes to replace the sun
With a new one of his own creation.

Amy walked a peaceful garden path
In dappled sunlight long ago
Creating lines that live today.
I trundle down a brick-lined walk
And hope that I will have tomorrow.
                         ljm

When I close my eyes to sleep at night,
I see you lying there,
alone in bed so far away,
it just doesn't seem quite fair.

If wishes worked like magic,
that's not what I would see.
For you would be much closer,
lying next to me.

Your head would be upon my chest,
your leg draped over mine.
Softly, you'd be sleeping,
and life would be just fine.

And as I drifted off to sleep,
your arms would hold me tight.
Together we would dream the truth,
of this and every night.

That this is how we're meant to be,
together, intertwined.
Just look at all the paths we took,
each other just to find.